


In Name Only

by AssessTheSituation



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 04:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssessTheSituation/pseuds/AssessTheSituation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glenn liked to think he was a pretty smart guy. He'd like to think he was smart in moving to Atlanta. He'd like to think he was smarter than working at a bar where he was likely to be killed all for the sake of a paycheck. And he'd like to think he was smart enough not to fall for some jackass biker with the name 'Judas' bedazzled on the back of his leather jacket. TWD AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude to Judas, Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so this is the debut of myself to AO3. I am mostly over at FF.net (under the same name), so I'm still learning my way around. Anywhos, Daryl/Glenn has become a guilty pleasure of mine, and after seeing the Lady Gaga 'Judas' music video, this little idea was inspired. Feel free to critique or just let me know what you think.

**::Prelude to Judas, Part I::**

All things considered, Glenn liked to think he was a pretty smart guy.

Sure, he may not be rocket-scientist levels of unbridled genius. He still used his fingers when counting, sung Fifty Nifty United States under his breath when he forgot one, and would have failed half his classes if it wasn't for spellcheck.

But, when it comes to the little things, the obvious things, like making sure he's turned the stove off before leaving his apartment or not wearing socks with sandals, Glenn knew he had it all figured out.

Common sense. Yeah, that's what it was. _Exactly_ what it was. Glenn had a well-developed, keenly-honed ability to make sound and prudent judgment based on a simple perception of the situation or facts. At least according to Wikipedia. After all, he's been working at this for twenty-four years, and anyone working on something that long had to be good at it.

Because Glenn knew things. Very self-explanatory, yet significant, things. Things such as:

Looking both ways before crossing the street.

Don't hop into a stranger's van because he's offering candy.

If a girl asks if she looks fat in a dress, say no. For the love of God, say no.

And, perhaps the most important, the obvious, the would-be no-brainer, the ' _well_ , _no fucking duh_ '- don't accept a job working as a bartender in a grungy, sleazy, menacing excuse of a bar right out of _Mad Max_ notorious for its biker gangs and police intervention.

Glenn would have sooner jumped into the pedo-van allured by the promise of lollipops from a clown with razor-sharp teeth than start working at the confusingly named _Electro Chapel_ , because in the words of the great Obi-Wan Kenobi; "You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy."

And that was putting it _lightly_.

The Electro Chapel was well-known in Atlanta. As in, everyone knew about it and stayed far, far away. It was all metal and leather and alcohol and violence- the kind where even the hardest of the hard-core thought about it for a second before taking a step inside. It was one of those places where someone either knew they belonged or knew they didn't, there was no "just breezing through and looking for a good time." Because when people went looking for a good time, it usually meant not _dying_.

Yet somehow, he, Glenn Rhee- awkward, geeky, pizza-delivering college student with a master's in Common Sense, was now a part of this terrifying, menacing and very much _not safe_ establishment.

He blamed his job.

Yep. Delivering pizza was now officially the Devil's work. It was probably one of the circles of Hell. The one where the victim is forced to drive out to creepy customers in the middle of No-One-Can-Hear-You-Scream-vile, only to get tacky change dug up from between couch cushions as a tip. Only Glenn's personal Hell apparently wasn't diabolical enough, and thus broke away from the loop of endless Horrifying and Mentally Traumatizing Pizza Deliveries to begin the next and final stage of his punishment; being offered a job to make drinks in a bar where getting shived was a way to meet new and exciting people.

Because nothing, not hillbillies answering the door wearing confederate flags and holding shotguns or guys whispering to imaginary friends about hating anchovies, could be more dangerous to his person than working at the Electro Chapel.

However, for some strange reason, one yet to be discovered by man, Glenn was not only working there, he was working there _voluntarily_.

Maybe it was the cheese fumes? The stress of college? Prolonged exposure to Atlanta's heat? Whatever the reason, the 'why' didn't matter. Glenn's acceptance, as totally insane as it was, aside, this was clearly all his job's fault. If the local pizza joint he worked at had any standards whatsoever, then he never would have had to go to the bar that anyone with two brains cells to rub together and a healthy appreciation of life knew to avoid, would have never been offered a job, and would have never said yes.

Then again, Glenn was the one who applied to deliver pizzas for a place called _Kiki's In and Out Pizzeria: All Night and Anywhere_.

Nope. Nope. This was still not his fault. Glenn only worked there because he _had_ too. It was _necessary_ , because working meant money and money meant food and Glenn _liked_ food.

He had a good thing going at Kiki's. Saying no to working at the Electro Chapel should have been like breathing; natural and essential to life.

But he _hadn't_ said no.

And here he was; looking at his life, looking at his choices.

So, upon much time spent in reflection, going over in his head the events leading up to this point in his life, contemplating the human condition and the power of one's existence as it works alongside the grand scheme of the universe, he came to one conclusion . . .

Realistically, the blame could sensibly and rightfully be dumped on his parents.

* * *

_Three years ago . . ._

Glenn picked at his chicken, trying not to be obvious about how nervous he was. There were only two outcomes for this situation; bad and not-as-bad. But he had a plan, and he was going to stick with it, even if it meant being disowned. Which would suck. A lot.

He looked over to his dad, who was sitting at the end of their family's modest dining table, then over to his mom, who was sitting at the other end. Both were almost finished with diner. His older sister Shannon was across from him, mindlessly sipping iced-tea while reading over her twenty-page psychology thesis and his little sister Emily was on his left, discreetly trying to hide her broccoli under her mashed potatoes. He gnawed at the inside of his lip. Well, everyone was here. Might as well go for it.

"So," he started conversationally, trying to keep his leg from bobbing like a jack-hammer, "You're probably wondering why I've called you all here." His pathetic attempt at humor fell so flat it hurt, but at least he got a sympathy giggle from Emily.

His parents turned their attention on him and Shannon just sort of briefly looked over in his direction in that 'I'm totally listening to you, go on.' type way. His mom gave him a warm smile that he couldn't return.

"Is there something you'd like to discuss with us, dear?" she asked, and he let out a shaky laugh.

There was a short moment of awkward silence. Well, awkward on his part. Shannon rolled her eyes from across the table, because, seriously, how dare _he_ interrupt _her_? It's not like there were _four_ other rooms in the freakin' _house_ she could relocate to. Glenn opened and closed his mouth, taking in deep breathes of air, desperately trying to figure out where the best place to start this conversation would be only to have his words to die away as a strangled sigh and start the process all over again.

Jeez, this was hard.

On his third attempt at honest-to-god _words_ , when the eye-rolling and the huffing and puffing didn't make Glenn get to his point any faster, Shannon looked like she was ready to blow his house down. Or at least stab him in the leg with her salad fork.

"Seriously, Glenn? You are _how_ old again? Just get on with it." Older sisters were evil and only existed to make life harder. That is a fact of life. Shannon knew Glenn was horrible at stuff like this. Trying to speak up about something obviously important was almost as bad as trying to keep a secret; it a) stressed him out, and b) he was just plain _bad_ at it. And when Glenn was put on the spot (even if he started it, but Sharron _so_ was not helping) he stressed, and when he stressed, he just blurted things out, no grace whatsoever.

"I want to go to a community college in Atlanta." Case and point.

The attention on him only magnified and he could feel the beat of his heart strum through his pulse, not entirely sure if it was better or worse than the pit of dread filling his stomach. His dad sat up straighter and his mom moved her plate to fold her hands in front of her. Shannon was actually paying attention now and Emily stopped trying to will her vegetables out of existence. But even through the mantra of _Oh, crap, oh, crap, oh, crap!_ going on in his head and the anxiety eating at his fingertips, Glenn felt a million times lighter with that off his chest. It was cathartic, and looking on the bright side, he did get the ball rolling. It may have been more like the giant boulder trying to squash Indiana Jones, but it was a start.

He was a glass half-full kind of guy.

"Glenn," his dad begins and Glenn already knows what he's going to say, "We've discussed this."

Tension chewing up his insides notwithstanding, Glenn wanted to bang his head of the table and groan. What his dad meant by "discussed" actually translated into "you're mother and I have already picked out the school you'll be going to, and you're going to agree with our decision."

George and Hana Rhee were good parents. They raised his sisters and him, put a roof over their heads and food on the table. They didn't yell at Shannon when she totaled the back end of the Kia one month after getting her license, just made sure she was okay first then calmly let her know she was going to pay them back for the damages. They accepted it when Glenn sat them down and told them about liking girls _and_ boys, both of them saying they still loved him, no matter what. And when Emily was suspended for getting into a fight in middle school, they listened to her side of the story and refrained from grounding her as long as she promised to let a teacher deal with the bullies next time.

Really, they were good parents, but that didn't mean they were perfect.

"Your father's right, dear," his mom agreed from her end of the table. "We've been talking to a friend who works at the university in Chicago who says he can get you in with a five-minute phone call. They do have a highly-regarded law program."

And there it was. To the casual outsider, it didn't look like much, but really it was just the tip of the iceberg.

The tip of the iceberg that sunk the Titanic.

It was the fatal flaw both his parents shared. They were way, _way_ to controlling.

If there was there was one trait Glenn caught from his parents, it would be his love of planning. Knowing what steps lead where and mentally flipping through all the different ways to take them until he came up with the best combination. He liked it, and it just came so naturally. Sort of like his own Parkour, without all the running and flipping and leaping from rooftops. It helped him when he needed to find a shorter route to school if he was running late or remembering the best places to hide when he felt like getting away.

But his parents, they could out-plan _God_. Hell, Glenn would bet his copy of the Amazing Spider-man #129 that his parents started planning his life the moment he was born and had the whole thing written-out and laminated by the time they brought him home. They just naturally assumed he was going to walk the path they laid out for him.

Wanting your kid to do well in school was fine. Wanting him to eat healthy and stay active was fine. Wanting him to have a better life was fine. But telling him he was going to be a doctor or lawyer or some other type of high profile job, telling him where to study and what courses to take, telling him that it would do him well when he settled down and had a family. . .

That was not fine.

Because Glenn didn't want any of those things, at least not right now. True, maybe if he actually knew what he wanted to do with his life, he'd have a better argument, but he didn't. Besides, wasn't college supposed to be a place where you could discover yourself? Wasn't it a time for people to figure out what they wanted instead of just for those who knew since they were five?

Regrettably, his parents didn't see it that way. Having a plan from start to finish offered stability and ensured success, so screw the journey. To his mom and dad, it was all destination and _they_ knew the best route to take. So he should just bow to their infinite wisdom and go with it.

Plus it didn't help his case when Shannon decided she was going to be a psychologist just like their dad.

That had begun the "It's been going so well for your sister, it will work well for you too, Glenn" approach his parents took in his last year of high school- a kind of 'if it's not broken, don't fix it' type logic.

"But if you're worried about Chicago, there's always Columbia or MIT. Don't think you only have a single choice," his dad assured, smiling and giving a slight nod, believing the conversation to be over.

No. Glenn glanced down for a moment, digging deep down for the courage he found to start this. He got this far. He made his choice. He had his plan and he was still sticking with it- even if his parents didn't like it.

Which they wouldn't.

"I know, dad," his voice was quiet and way steadier than he could have hoped for. "I've already signed up for classes in January and taken out a loan . . . for Westwood College in Atlanta." It was defiant and as close sacrilegious as could be for a family that wasn't particularly religious. Shannon was staring at him like he was crazy. His parents looked a little shocked, but like with every situation, they addressed it evenly, which marked a tally for them in the _Makes Them Good Parents_ category.

"Well, Glenn, have you considered how you'll support yourself? A loan is perfectly fine for the short term, but debt is a slippery-slope and your father and I won't finance this." His mom's voice was composed, and even though Glenn was relieved she wasn't yelling or exceptionally angry, it was unnerving.

Despite starting his college fund when he was but an unborn jelly-bean, that money had been saved for Dr. Glenn Rhee, M.D. or Glenn Rhee, Attorney at Law. Neither of which were _him_ , so he wasn't going to see a dime.

Some people may think that keeping the college fund you saved up for your kid from him just because he didn't want to go to the school for the career you picked out is extremely douche-y . . . well, it _was_ , but Glenn had been dealing with his parents for twenty years and was used to their . . . what's a good word? Ummm, _unconventional_ expressions of love.

Glenn kept his shoulders squared and head up, fighting the urge to stare down at his half-eaten food and fidget. "I've researched the area. There are tons of places and small businesses hiring all the time, and a friend of mine is letting me stay at her and her sister's so I don't have to shell-out for student living right away."

His dad sighed and pushed his glasses back up his nose and his mom looked unconvinced. He was back to chewing the inside of his lip. They didn't believe him, but he wasn't backing down. Not about this. Glenn glanced between them, making sure to look them both in the eye to show that he was seriously serious.

"I'm doing this."

He knew it boiled down to his mom and dad thinking he was wasting his time- which was funny, because that was exactly what Glenn would be doing if he went to one of the fancy super-schools his parents listed for him. He'd be wasting his time and their money and all for something his heart would never really be in. So, Glenn was putting his foot down, metaphorically speaking, and moving to Atlanta to go to school to find something he could be passionate about.

_Whatever_ it would be, he needed the chance to discover it first.

"Alright," his dad sounded more like he was humoring him than anything, but Glenn would take what he could get. "You are an adult, Glenn, and your mother and I certainly can't tell you what to do." Not that they wouldn't try, but it was as close to a blessing as he was going to hear and Glenn, not pushing his luck, gave a stiff nod and excused himself from the table.

Glenn knew he wasn't going to receive support from his parents on this and the conversation as a whole went well, definitely on the not-as-bad end of the spectrum. But still, a little encouragement would have been nice so he didn't have to walk away feeling like an ungrateful jerk and completely dismissed at the same time.

It hurt. Even with being used to the way his parents were and knowing how the whole ordeal would pan out long before he worked up the courage to talk over diner . . . it still hurt- stinging, just a little.

Later, after retreating to his bedroom, there was a knock on his door and Glenn, not wanting to talk to anyone, answered anyway. Emily was on the other side, giving him enough time to give her a drained "What?" before she attacked him with ninja-speed and wrapped him in a surprisingly strong hug for a tweenager.

"I think you should do what makes you happy, Glenn," she said, smiling up brightly at him before letting go and skipping back to her room to write in her diary or cut-out pictures of cute boys from magazines or do whatever is was twelve-year-old girls do.

Glenn totally didn't tear-up. His allergies were just convenient.

The next month was filled with Glenn packing, Shannon calling him an idiot, Emily thumbing him up every time he turned a corner, his parents still believing he was going to call this off, and more packing. It was late October when Glenn shoved the final box into the passenger seat of his 1998 black Corolla. He ticked off all the last minute things he grabbed finger by finger, double-checking that he hadn't forgotten the box of rare comics hidden under his bed guarded by old gym socks or left any unmentionables lying around his now sparse bedroom floor.

He took one last look around, the situation finally starting to dawn on him. He was leaving, he was _actually_ doing this. Glenn almost couldn't believe it. He'd always taken the path of least resistance when it came to his decisions, but not this time. His eyes swept along the house's lawn, its green grass like a second bed on lazy summer days. The tree he'd fallen out of when he was ten and broken his leg stood proudly next to his home. His neighbor's powder-blue house that he'd use as a landmark went inviting friends over.

He'd done it. Glenn had actually stood his ground. He was leaving.

Holy crap.

"Hold up, Glenn!" Emily's voice brought him from his revelation and he couldn't help but smile. If he was going to miss anyone terribly, it was definitely his little sister. She barreled into him at kid level Mach-5, knocking the wind out of him in one fell " _oohff!_ "

"Didn't think you were leaving without saying goodbye, huh?" she said, looking up at him brightly with a toothy grin.

"You caught me, shrimp," he wheezed, catching his breath and ruffling her hair because he could. "I already took a shower and thought I could escape without you giving me anymore cooties." She stuck her tongue out at him and he did the same, making faces until she laughed and he was the victor.

"Mature, Glenn, real mature." Shannon called out, walking over from the front door. "I totally believe that you're ready to strike out on your own."

"Awww," he let go of Emily and pulled Shannon into an exaggerated hug, "I knew you loved me."

"Yeah, yeah. Try not to wake-up naked tied to a post," she grumbled, giving him small pats instead of actually embracing him. "And not to tight, I just ironed this shirt for an interview." How warm and fuzzy of her. Glenn rolled his eyes and returned the light back-pats, subtlety placing a bright pink sticky-note saying "Free Hugs" to her back. He knew his sister all too well.

He pulled away and gave Emily a conspiratory wink. She giggled but said nothing.

Best. Side-kick. Ever.

His mom and dad stepped outside a second later and everyone was in the Rhee family driveway seeing Glenn off.

His dad hugged him first. "Be safe. And remember you can call us if you need anything." Glenn had to bite back a ' _money and emotional support would be nice, thanks'_ but knew deep down his parents did care, if in a convoluted and inconvenient way most of the time. His mom followed suit, "We love you, Glenn," and gave him an extra squeeze before letting go.

There were no tears or _'we're proud of you'_ 's, not like when Sharron left for school. Probably because his parents still weren't convinced that Glenn wasn't just going to drive to the end of the street and sleep in his car for a few days to make a point. He wasn't too bitter about it. Much. Denial isn't just a river in Egypt, after all.

He gave everyone a final hug, making sure Shannon's sticky-note wasn't in danger of falling off. What kind of brother would he be, letting his big sister miss out on all the free affection? His smile was a little strained for his parents, but he _did_ still love them. He picked up Emily and gave her a twirl- which wasn't as easy as it used to be, he thought, now realizing that he wasn't going to be around every day to see his little sister grow up.

Because he was seriously, incredibly, indisputably _leaving_.

It hit him like a blow to the gut, and he felt a little weightless.

Aww, man. Stupid allergies.

Everyone was watching him go as he climbed into the driver's seat and pulled out of the driveway. And they were still there when Glenn checked his rear-view mirror five houses down.

Okay. _Where_ did he put the Benadryl?

The drive from his family's house in Columbia to where he was now going to be living was about three hours, give or take a few minutes. There hadn't been any traffic or spontaneous natural disasters, and he spent most his time humming to songs playing on the radio. It helped distract him from any back-peddling, like thinking this was a horrible idea and maybe he should have given this more thought and _Oh my God, what am I doing?_

But this wasn't a horrible idea, and Glenn _had_ thought this through and the only time he wondered what he was doing was when he had to check his directions after turning off on the wrong exit.

The worst thing to happen during his drive was a serious case of numb butt.

The thing about Atlanta was that it was huge. Busy and huge. It wasn't like Glenn hadn't ever been in Atlanta before, just that the reality was sinking in that he would be living here full time. He felt a little overwhelmed, a little over his head. And it. Felt. Awesome.

Glenn could feel the stupid half-grin he was wearing but didn't care. He was way too busy enjoying the sweet, sweet taste of freedom and looking around for the Horvath apartment complex.

_She said it was a cranberry-colored building about four floors high. Crap, I wasn't supposed to take a left at that light, was I?_ Glenn was worrying on his lower lip- a habit he should try getting a hold on- hoping his keen sense of direction wasn't failing him when he saw a sign reading **Horvath Apartments**.

Ha. And he'd almost doubted himself.

Glenn pulled into the complex, parking in the visitors area and grabbed the scrap piece of paper he'd written the apartment number on. The outer door of the building was heavy and Glenn promised to start lifting as he heaved it open. He quickly scanned though the list of names and numbers then pressed the buzzer next to 203.

There was a deep, static-y noise followed by a young woman's voice. _"Hello?"_

Hearing her familiar voice, Glenn felt like he was five again, going to his first ever sleepover.

"Hi, you ordered a scrawny Asian kid with a double helping of geek?"

" _Glenn?! Oh my God, get up here!"_ The door buzzed and he flew up the first flight of stairs, excitement and anticipation motivating his legs. It was a good thing nobody else was on said stairs or he would have run them over. He reached the second floor's door when it opened before he could turn the handle. She had light blonde hair and light blue eyes and the biggest smile and it felt like Glenn hadn't seen her in forever.

"Amy!" Amy gave him a giant hug and Glenn gave her one right back.

Glenn met Amy when they were in elementary school, becoming best friends over a shared Snickers bar during lunch time and a mutual love of the undeniable badassery of the Pink Power Ranger, literally like two peas in a pod- which was ironic since they both hated peas- through the rest of school, until sophomore year in high school when both of Amy's parents died in a car crash.

It had been hard; Glenn had been with Amy when she got the news. He'd held onto her while she cried, wanting to cry himself. Mr. and Mrs. Ellis were good people- Glenn got to know them pretty well. They were almost like a second family. But Amy needed Glenn to be strong for her and he didn't mind holding back his own grief to give her a shoulder to cry on.

Then Amy had to move in with her older sister Andrea in Atlanta. He never considered himself to be a selfish person, but his reaction to the news was something like, no, she couldn't leave him. Amy was just as much a rock for Glenn as he was for her and they were always there for each other. Her leaving, if only a few hours away, made his throat tighten and his fists clench.

But it didn't take long for him to realize how much of an ass he was being, if not outwardly. Yes, it sucked have to say good-bye to his best friend so soon over something so awful, but Amy and her sister had lost their parents and needed each other more than ever.

Still, through the wonders of modern technology, they'd been able to keep in touch, no less best friends than the day before Amy left, and when Glenn confided in her about wanting to break away from his chosen destiny, she jumped on the idea of him moving in with her and Andrea. They could work out some sort of roommate arrangement and Andrea was totally cool with it.

Glenn wanted to say no at first. Sure, the idea sounded awesome and sure, he was desperate, but that felt like taking advantage of a friend's good will. Amy told him he was being a dumbass and that if he moved anywhere other than to her and her sister's guest room then she would find him and force him to watch _Batman & Robin _until his eyes bled and he begged for mercy.

Needless to say, Glenn came around to her way of thinking.

"I've missed you so, so much," Amy said as she pulled away, eyes tinged with red.

"Same here," Glenn was secure enough in his manliness to admit that maybe it wasn't just pollen as he rubbed at his eyes. Webcams and microphones be damned, Glenn loved Skype as much as the next guy but it couldn't compare to authentic human interaction.

"Why don't we grab your stuff? Andrea and I fought off the last of the dust bunnies a few days ago, so the room is ready to go."

"You're too good to me." Amy smiled and they nudged each other on the way down to Glenn's car, immediately falling right back into step. Unloading all his stuff took a mere three trips- even if those trips were ten minutes apiece with them stopping to talk and goof around, Amy threatening to go through his things at random and Glenn threatening to let her. And on reflection, taking their time wasn't such a bad thing since carrying boxes up a flight of stairs started jellifying his legs on the way down from the second trip.

Maybe he should plan a full-out exercise regime if he was going to stay in Atlanta for the next few years.

With a twin bed and dresser already set up in the room, and all of his things waiting to be released from their cube-shaped cardboard prisons, Glenn felt the strain of his day peak; he was beat. He could feel Amy judge him when he flopped face-first into fresh sheets. Not that he cared when his body relaxed into the amazingly soft mattress, tension easing from his arms and legs.

She could judge all she liked.

"Come on, Glenn," Amy tugged at his leg, "You only just got here. I still have to show you around the complex and your stuff isn't going to unpack itself."

"I don't think your building complex's layout will change tomorrow and unpacking things should be saved for rainy days. Besides, napping sounds like a whole lot less work and just as productive." Glenn blissfully inhaled the lavender-vanilla scent of his linens to drive home his point, ready to drift off on a cloud of recently-washed serenity.

"Wow," Amy laughed, smacking his shoe, "Thirty minutes living in Atlanta and you've already turned into a lazy bum."

"Not being lazy if it's deserved," he countered, "No force in Heaven or Earth or an early release or Red Dead Redemption will move me from this spot." He meant it. Hours of packing, driving, and then unpacking really did a guy in. This was glorious and every muscle he was reintroduced to today agreed one-hundred percent.

"Hey, I'm home!" called a voice followed by a door being shut from the kitchen. "Is Glenn here? I'm pretty sure I saw his car on the way over. I brought lunch." Glenn perked up, hearing the rustling of plastic bags and the undeniable scent of Taco Bell, aches and a well-earned snooze abruptly forgotten.

"Hey Andrea, Glenn and I will be out in a sec," Amy called back before shooting him a look as he hopped off the bed, perky and ready to feast.

"What?" he asked innocently. He was a man and a man needed his lunch.

She rolled her eyes fondly, "Way not to be a total guy and stand at attention for _food_."

"I'd pretend to be horribly offended by your sexist views and double-entendre, but," Glenn drew out, walking out of the room, ". . . yo quiero Taco Bell," and made a dash for the kitchen.

He regretted nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Even with a spacious apartment like Amy and Andrea's, it wasn't far to the kitchen and Amy was hot on his heels. He had to stop before the arch-way leading out from the kitchen to the living room, hitting the breaks or else he and Amy would've ended up dog-piling her sister. Luckily for Andrea and her precious cargo of Mexican fast-food, both Glenn and Amy were able to slow down- Amy mostly shoving into the back of Glenn and Glenn being propelled a couple of inches forward.

Andrea looked a bit startled at their sudden entrance. Glenn was desperately trying to hold back a fit of totally manly giggles when Amy began poking him in the sides to get him to move out of her way. He stood valiantly until she unleashed a full ten-fingered assault, removing him from the path to her sister. Getting his breath back, he was sure that there were actual children who didn't act as childish as he and Amy did.

He still regretted nothing.

"Sorry about that," Amy said, regaining her composure like she hadn't just nearly tickled him to death.

"Yeah, I have no idea what got into Amy back there." He got an elbow to the arm.

"No problem," Andrea said finally, her voice a little tight, like she was trying not to laugh at their shenanigans. Yeah, Glenn gave that a couple of days. Maybe three or four depending on how much time they all spent together. "It's good to see you again, considering last time wasn't much of an introduction."

Glenn smiled, a little embarrassed, his shoes suddenly very tempting to stare at. When Andrea had come after their parents' accident, he had kept his distance, thinking she and Amy would prefer to be by themselves while dealing with the particulars, both personal and material. Not wanting to unintentionally be in the way or anything, he had given the two some space whenever he could.

So, for as long as she had been in Columbia, Andrea had known him as the best friend of her sister who excused himself the moment she walked into a room. Glenn hadn't realized how weird that would be to someone until Amy told him Andrea asked her what she'd done wrong to make him avoid her like the Black Plague.

"Yeah. You'll see I still haven't grown out of my awkward phase. I think the switch was flipped to the 'on' position at a young age and it's been stuck ever since."

Andrea chuckled. Looks like there were no hard feelings.

"But in all seriousness, thanks for letting me stay," Glenn rubbed the back of his neck. "It really helps."

Andrea smiled at him. She had a great smile. "Well, I know how good of friends you and Amy are and we've got the space," she handed them the fast-food bags and they sat around the coffee table in the living room. "But you'll be singing a different tune when you realize how much Amy and I hate dusting . . . or vacuuming . . . or doing house work of any kind. We had to guilt ourselves into getting this place into shape."

"Oh, don't worry," Amy dug into her first taco, "I already told Glenn that you and I have each other's backs when it's time to decide who does dishes. And _we_ have cherry-blossom pink manicured claws."

Scoffing, he reached for a packet of mild sauce. "A little manual labor for room and board is more than a reasonable trade, but it's only fair to warn you, go all Catwoman on me and I _will_ go for the hair." Glenn won his inner bet when Andrea laughed out loud. She also had a great laugh- and an infectious one too- causing him and Amy to laugh with her, leaving most of the food to get cold while the neighbors were probably turning up their T.V.s, thinking the people in 203 were all crazy.

* * *

And that's how it worked. Glenn became an unofficial roommate, helping around the apartment and bringing in food and rent with his job between classes. It was a great system. Andrea had her full-time occupation as a civil rights attorney (she understood completely when Glenn gave her the summarized version of his parents and their long-term, bullet-pointed expectation of his life, saying that a career in law was definitely not for everyone.)

It didn't take long for him to really like Andrea.

He and Amy went to different colleges- meaning they couldn't hang out as much. Amy wanted to be a writer and was working towards a specific degree, unlike Glenn's general and all-encompassing approach to the classes he took. Not to mention they both had part-time, school-has-been-taken-into-account jobs.

But they all lived together. In the morning there'd be dibs on the coffee machine for whoever was the most coherent (normally Andrea, since she had the most practice functioning as an adult with actual responsibilities), but she'd take pity on them and would toast him and Amy bagels before they lumbered out to their cars and off to campus. At night the three of them would re-group, relaxing over dinner and talking about how hot this client's brother was, or about the creative-writing teacher that came in with only half a moustache, or about the stoners in the back of the class room who always brought in Cheetos and Mountain Dew.

It was a fulfilling living arrangement; Glenn had a system that _worked_ \- a family away from family.

So why, why, a thousand times _why_ \- did he have to throw it all in a blender and hit frappe?

Although . . . now that he was thinking about it, maybe it really was his jobs fault. A little financial support from the parents would be nice, but Glenn would've gotten a job anyway- even with his mom and dad being, well, his _mom_ and _dad_ , Glenn wasn't one to live off of somebody else. And unlike his parents calculatedly making his life a little more suckish, he could directly link Kiki's responsibility to his troubling and life-threatening predicament.

Oh, yeah. Situation with parents was definitely getting its share of the credit, but _Kiki's_ is what put him directly into the line of fire.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the feedback, and please continue to review and such.

**::Prelude to Judas, Part II::**

_One week ago . . ._

“Yo, Rhee! I need you to do a delivery. This address. Ten minutes ago. Move.”

Glenn bit back a groan. It was so late. Seriously only fifteen minutes until the end of his shift, and of _course_ Duke wanted him to do a run.

“Seriously, Duke? Come on, man, I pulled a double today and I’m out of here in, like, five seconds. Make Josh or Antonio do it.”

Duncan “Duke” Barnes, owner of Kiki’s Pizzeria, gave Glenn all the sympathy of a DMV employee on a Saturday. Not that he expected much else. Duke was a native-born New Yorker with personality to match. Glenn was pretty sure desperation made him fill out an application and hand in his resume to a guy who reminded him of Mr. Clean with his shaved head and bulging muscles minus the family-friendly smile and cheery background chorus.

And Glenn, being the curious person he was, felt the need to ask the man from one of the toughest cities in America with at least fifty pounds over him two really stupid questions: why come to Atlanta from the Big Apple and why name his pizzeria ‘Kiki’s’?

Duke’s answers were impressively simple. Every other building in New York City was a pizza joint, so why not move shop to Atlanta? And Kiki was the name of his girlfriend. Did Glenn have a problem with that?

“No, sir.” had apparently been the right answer when nose-to-nose with someone who could squash him because Duke let out a laugh and clapped him on the shoulder, saying he was hired. It was an unusual start to a beautiful employee/employer relationship and almost four months later Glenn could say Duke was honestly the best boss he’d ever had. Even during moments like these when he had to try really, really hard to remember why.

“Woe is you, kid. Josh is on a delivery and I don’t trust the newbie not to get lost going off the highway.” Charlie, a baker with a bright orange Mohawk and ear buds permanently lodged in his ears came out from the kitchen and handed Duke two pizza boxes, giving Glenn a short wave before stepping back through the double-doors.

“Here ya go,” Duke shoved the pizzas into Glenn’s reluctant arms, sticking the address on top, like the cherry on a sundae of misery. “Two large Meat-Lover Supremes.”

“Is there any way I can beg my way out of this?” The clock hanging up on the wall kindly reminded Glenn that someone, somewhere, wanted not one, but two pizzas at three in the morning. What. The. Hell.

“No.” Duke crossed his arms and propped himself against the counter. “Now get your ass moving before the food gets cold. Last thing I need is customers complaining about service.”

“Why do I work for you again?” Glenn bemoaned, placing the pizzas in his carrier bag. Giving Duke a hard time and Duke not giving a damn was kind of their thing.

“’Cause,” Duke rolled his neck and Glenn made a face when the bones could be heard popping, “I’m the guy who signs your paychecks.”

“Aww, and I convinced myself it was your charm and sparkling wit.” Glenn flashed him his biggest smile.

Duke snorted, “Yeah, sure.”

During his times at Kiki’s, Glenn had become known in the inner-circle of pizza delivery boys as the Human GPS. Not the most awesome of super-powers- or super-hero name for that matter- but it was a skill that made him a legend to the world of pizza-based food establishments. He learned routes like he’d been running them his whole life and he knew his way around Atlanta better than half the people that lived here.

The whole planning thing, he never figured it’d help him with his job.

And it had gone from a blessing to a curse in all of three seconds when Glenn glanced over his route, not even needing to read his final destination because Glenn knew exactly where he was going . . . and it would _literally_ be his _final_ destination.

As in final destination in _life_.

Okay. An inkling of terror washed over him. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe Duke didn’t like him as much as Glenn thought, because this . . . this was murder. Why would Duke want him _murdered_? What had he done to deserve _this_?

The fear of impending doom must have been reading loud and clear on his face. Duke raised an eyebrow and let out an impatient huff. “What the hell is your problem, kid?”

Glenn gawked, open-mouthed and highly unattractive, looking back and forth between the address and Duke. “My problem?” he squeaked and wow, he thought he’d already gotten over puberty. “What’s _your_ problem? If you wanted me dead, there are nicer ways to do it. Like tying my feet to a concrete block and throwing me into a river, or pushing me in front of a bus on the freeway. Why are you sending me to the _Electro Chapel_?”

“That’s where the pizza is going.”

“So, what? My life is worth twenty bucks and change?”

“Kid,” Duke sighed, “Have you ever even been there?”

“No. But I also haven’t tied steaks around my neck and gone swimming with sharks.”

Duke pushed himself off the counter, leaning down like the six-foot-two giant he was and looked Glenn square in the eye. “Look, I personally don’t give a damn about the reputation of some bar. They ordered two large Meat-Lover Supremes, and they’re gonna _get_ two large Meat-Lover Supremes.” He backed off, switching tactics and threw a “friendly” arm around Glenn’s shoulders. “Tell you what, though. You can go straight home after this run. I’ll just take the money for the pizza out of your paycheck.”

If Glenn’s mouth hung any wider in disbelief, he was going to catch flies. Seriously, _this_ was Duke’s compromise? Go bring food to the roughest bar in all of Atlanta and as a reward he didn’t have to stop back at Kiki’s? How wonderful that he could go home for the night if he managed to leave the Electro Chapel _alive_.

But it looked like Duke had used up all his consideration on the matters of life and death for the day and on that note literally pushed Glenn out of the pizzeria, the soft chime of the bell more like a toll as he walked, numbly holding pizzas in hand, to his car.

Maybe he was being a little over-dramatic. He’d never stepped foot inside the Electro Chapel- because he didn’t have a death wish- and, to be fair, he didn’t personally know anyone that had either. It wasn’t the kind of place people like Glenn ventured, since chain-smoking, alcoholic bikers didn’t give a flying fuck whether or not _Star Trek_ or _Doctor Who_ was more influential on modern media.

He read an article or two online, saw a few News reports never showing the place in a good light and heard all kinds of stories on campus along the years whenever the name would come up, but it was always a ‘I know a guy who knows a guy’ scenario. The most personal he’d ever gotten with the Electro Chapel was Amy telling him about one time when she’d innocently mentioned it to Andrea and Andrea flipped-out, making Amy promise never to go there. Ever.

And Glenn wasn’t the type of person who needed conformation on anything like that, so he’d never felt the need to make absolutely sure the Elector Chapel was in fact a hang-out for thugs and criminals to get drunk and beat the crap out of each other.

So, there was always the possibility of it not being that bad. That maybe it was a bar that just happened to get a lot of bad press . . . like multiple lawsuits and disturbance of the peace charges and one horrifying story about the regulars setting some poor guy’s car on fire.

Whether the guy was still in his car changed each time Glenn heard about it.

Yeah, he was so not helping himself right now.

It was a simple ten minute drive and even though he would have rather taken his time- last few moments of life and all- Glenn figured being late would only make the odds of him getting out of the bar intact even worse.

While the Electro Chapel wasn’t far from civilization, it was in one of those closed off places you see in horror movies. The bar was right off the highway- which was a perfect location for business when your business involved bikers and truckers and other questionable characters that traveled from place to place- but the area surrounding it was remote. It was a decent sized building, but the rest was dirt and gravel surrounded by wide openness and trees.

As Glenn got out of his car, double checking for his cell phone and keys and adjusting the cap on his head, with the two pizzas safely in his carrier bag, he couldn’t help but think Norman Bates’ realtor was extremely proud of himself for another job well done.

Well, at least there were only a few vehicles parked in the dirt lot in front of the bar. Three cars and a motorcycle from what he could see. Three in the freaking morning wasn’t just too early for regular people, then. Even motor-heads knew when to call it a night. That was promising.

Even if the lack of noise creeped him out and the glowing, neon sign for the Electro Chapel shone eerily against the too dark sky.

If he kept telling himself he was going to be okay, maybe it’d come true.

The gravel crunched loudly under his feet and all along the way Glenn wondered who he was supposed to deliver these pizzas to if he wasn’t horrifically murdered before he reached the double-doors that undoubtedly lead to the inside. Because some part of him was hoping that he could leave the pizzas at the top of the steps and run back to his car. Duke would never have to know.

Oh crap. He was already up the short steps and in front of the entrance. The whole place felt even more foreboding up close. Not like a chapel at all. So, like, what was he supposed to do? Knock? Go inside? Dropping what he was carrying and making a run for it still sounded like a solid plan. Seriously, delivering pizza should not be this hard or mortally petrifying.

Fortunately- or unfortunately, but at this point Glenn was counting each second as borrowed time- a burly man with a back shirt stretched over his broad chest stepped outside, nearly hitting Glenn in the face with the door.

 _What_ was with everyone in Atlanta being freaking giants? Glenn wasn’t short or anything, definitely on the better side of average, but _come on_.

The man stared at him with an air of confusion, though Glenn had a sneaking suspicion that confusion probably wasn’t unfamiliar territory for this guy if his beefy-with-no-brains look was anything to go by. Not that he would say that out loud.

Hell no.

“Uhh,” Glenn coughed, clearing his voice and holding his carrier bag a bit higher. “Someone ordered Kiki’s Pizza?”

Comprehension lit up the man’s face so fast Glenn would have laughed if he wasn’t so focused on survival. One giant hand grabbed the handle of the door and yanked it back open. Glenn was surprised it wasn’t ripped off its hinges.

“Robby!” Big Guy yelled, “Pizzas here!” Glenn could hear someone holler something back and the Big Guy nodded. “Go on in.” he mumbled around a freshly-placed cigarette, holding the door open for Glenn. At least there were manners in this well-known cesspool of debauchery. He smiled weakly and went inside.

Okay. So, the inside wasn’t so bad. There weren’t any satanic symbols written in blood or bondage gear hanging from the ceiling or walls covered in guns and knives, just hard-wood floors and muggy lighting. There was a thin layer of grime that could be seen on almost every surface and it smelled faintly of sixth-grade lunch-induced vomit, but besides the occasional out-of-place wooden pillar, it wasn’t so different from a regular bar- chairs had been turned over onto tables and barstools flipped on top of the bar itself and everything.

There was a small area at the far end where three people were grouped together with different bottles of alcohol and glasses littering the bar top. The guy in front of the bar, who looked so normal and non-fear inducing that Glenn was either experiencing a psychotic-break or he was beginning to feel a little confused by how not-dead he was, stood up, saying something like, “Thank god, the food has arrived.” and waved him over.

It was kind of surreal, _not_ walking towards his own execution, but Glenn wasn’t complaining about reality not living up to his understandable paranoia.

Not that he wasn’t still on edge. Being lead into a false sense of security was always the first mistake the guy who got stabbed to death made.

There were two men and a woman. The guy who called him over followed the pizzas with gleaming eyes through thick-framed hipster-glasses like Kiki’s was some world renowned pizzeria delivered to only the most worthy. Glenn found himself sympathizing. He knew that look all too well. Once, Amy and Andrea left him to his own devices for a weekend. He learned to love take-out and instant Ramen over those three days.

“Set ‘em down where ever you like,” the guy said, patting down his jeans and then the front pockets of his shirt. Glenn stood in front of him awkwardly, there not really being a place on the bar to set down the boxes.

Apparently not finding what he was looking for, the guy swerved his head, looking around the immediate area and scrubbed at his short beard. “Shit,” he said. “Cam, did I leave my wallet in the back?”

The man behind the bar, looking a little more like what Glenn expected from this place with tattoos of various images trailing up his arms, continuing under the sleeves of his shirt, and metal-studded leather straps around each wrist, shrugged, “Probably.”

“Fucking great,” he threw Glenn an apologetic smile. “Sorry, man. I gotta go get the cash, you mind waiting a few extra minutes?”

“Sure, no problem,” Glenn managed, still a little shell-shocked that he wasn’t being sacrificed to the skeleton of a ram or something.

Cam, who he guessed was the bartender, moved a few bottles and smudged glasses aside for Glenn to set down the pizzas while hipster-glasses guy disappeared into a back room.

“Are those pizzas vegan?” Glenn nearly jumped when the woman who was also behind the bar spoke up. Geez, he was expecting a long, painful death by dubious strangers, not a freaking heart-attack.

“Uhh, no.” he said, heart-rate returning closer to something healthy. “Both of them are Meat-Lover Supremes- extra sausage, pepperoni, ham, chicken and bacon. It’s, like, the anti-vegan.”

The woman pouted, full lips pulled in a small frown and dark eyebrows furrowed- which was a shame, considering she had a very beautiful face, with high cheek bones, bright green eyes and perfect make-up, framed by long, wavy auburn hair. Glenn only noticed so much because her face was the only place he felt safe looking since the cut of the top she wore outlined an impressive chest and dipped past her navel, showing off a glittering belly-button ring.

The last thing Glenn needed was to be pulverized because someone thought he was checking out their girl.

“What the hell, Cam?” Ouch. Her voice was just this side of grating, but still. “You and Rob know I’m a vegetarian! I’ve been working my ass off today and you guys seriously couldn’t order something without a face?” She smacked Cam on the arm and he looked about as fazed a bear having a pebble thrown at it.

“How ‘bout this,” Cam drawled, the dark circles under his eyes telling Glenn that the man didn’t give two shits. “You can have whatever the hell you want to eat when you learn how to make a fucking White Russian.”

“Look, asshole, I’m trying my best!” This was escalating quickly. How long had Rob- formally known as hipster-glasses guy- been looking for his wallet?

“You were pouring in _tequila_ , Crystal, tequila!”

Crystal reeled back, fuming. “Well, excuse-fuckin’-me! Every other drink you serve has fucking tequila in it!”

Cam threw his hands up, the lip ring he had making his scowl all the more pronounced. “Five different drinks! I asked you to learn how to mix five easy-as-shit drinks and you screw-up the easiest one!” Glenn wondered if this was going to come to blows because that excessively revealing top Crystal wore didn’t just leave little to the imagination, it displayed two well-toned arms, giving the impression of a woman who visited the gym regularly and was ready to throw-down.

Thank whoever was listening when Glenn heard the door in the back open and saw Rob briskly coming up, pulling a few bills from his unearthed wallet.

“I’ve only been at this a week, _Cameron_ , I’m not going to get everything perfect like your pompous ass,” she gritted out and out of the corner of his eye, Glenn could see Rob pinching the bridged of his nose and sigh like this was a common occurrence. It probably was, but if they could hold out for not even a minute so Glenn could get the money for the pizza and be on his merry way, that would be awesome, thanks.

“Christ, woman, I went from high-school to professionally serving up drinks in a week! I wouldn’t trust you to put together a Rum and Coke, forget a Mojito!” he jabbed a finger at Glenn. “I bet this fucking pizza kid could do better than you!”

For the love of God, Glenn just wanted to get out of here, curl up in bed, and possibly resign from delivering pizza permanently. But ‘Cameron’ was having none of that.

“You, kid! You know what goes in a Mojito?”

Brilliant, he was being put on the spot. Oh, what he wouldn’t sell on the black market to be back in his family’s dining room with Shannon calling him out. And if he wasn’t stressed out enough as it was, what with the being in the Electro Chapel in the first place, Crystal’s eyes shot to him expectantly, green flames of estrogen-fueled fury (waiting for more ammo to throw at Cameron, no doubt) and before the grimy hardwood floor could mercifully fall out from under him, the words came tumbling out.

“Uhh, Mojito . . . that’s, uh, that’s club soda, mint, rum, lemon juice and a couple of teaspoons of sugar, right?” He sucked in a breath and drew back, waiting for them to beat him to a bloody pulp then string him up as an example for answering wrong.

Crystal turned back to Cameron. “Ha!- wait,” she looked back at him, making sense out of his panicky, rushed answer, then back to Cameron. “Was that right?”

With a hint of surprise, the bartender nodded. “Damn right it was,” he was staring at Glenn now. “How about a Cosmopolitan?”

He forced his shoulders to relax. “Vodka, triple sec, lime juice and cranberry juice, if, you know, you’re going for a classic Cosmo.”

“Sloppy Pussy?”

He blushed at the name but valued his life and answered. “Everclear, fruit punch and Gatorade.”

Trying not to squirm under the intense gaze of Cameron and the quietly impressed face of Crystal, Glenn looked at Rob, which wasn’t much better with the man staring at him like he should be veiled in light with a church choir singing Halleluiah behind him.

Oh, he was absolutely resigning from delivering pizzas. Duke would just have to find something else for him to do.

“You know the amounts and such that go with those ingredients, kid?” Cameron asked, sounding a hell of a lot less ready to give up on life then when Glenn first stepped into the bar.

“Uh, yes, but, you see, my shift . . .”

“How would you like to make a fifty-dollar tip?” Glenn’s attention snapped to Rob.

“What, seriously?”

“Yep. All you need to do is put us together a few drinks,” he said, like he offered this to every random pizza boy that came to his bar.

Really, he should leave. Make some sort of an excuse. Say that he’d get in trouble, that he had to feed his cat, that he wanted to be in bed before dawn broke. Then he should accept the money, go back to his car and count his lucky stars he lived to tell the tale.

But, the thing was, Glenn was making a plan, and that plan was to move into an apartment of his own. He was insanely grateful for Amy and Andrea letting him stay with them and would be paying them back the rest of his life, but he wanted to be more independent and have a space he could make his home. No matter how shabby and bare essential it was bound to be, it _would_ be his.

Glenn wasn’t greedy, but saving up tips for a deposit was slow work at best and an easy fifty dollars sounded like a nice addition to the coffee can on the top shelf of his closet labeled ‘apartment fund’. So, against better judgment, he stayed, quaking hands grabbing hold of bottles half-empty and started mixing up whatever cocktail Cameron threw his way.

He wasn’t perfect or even close to what could be thought of as a natural, pausing between steps and having to start over a couple of times, but eventually the nerves and unfamiliarity dissipated and he got a rhythm going. At some point, The Big Guy from earlier found his way back inside, grabbing a slice from the first pizza box Cameron and Rob were going at (and every bite they took earned a seething glare from Crystal) and made himself comfy watching the spectacle of the one of the most bizarre moments of Glenn’s life.

Glenn wasn’t much of a drinker and hardly an alcohol enthusiast. They only reason he knew anything more than drinking equaled a god-awful headache and just cause to whip out the good ol’ Ray-Bans was his friend Lewis who graduated last year. Lewis was getting his Bachelors in Culinary Arts and for part of his final, had to prepare a surprise alcoholic beverage. The ‘surprise’ being Lewis having no idea what he was going to be asked to make, so in order to be on his game, enlisted Glenn’s help to study.

Two weeks and four pages worth of drinks and how to make them printed off à la Google later, Lewis _and_ Glenn could have passed the final.

It was extraordinary, the information he retained. Goodbye eight-grade algebra, hello Gin and Tonic.

Not long after, a Long Island Ice Tea, a Screw Driver, a Whiskey Sour that may have been too sour, and a Mai Tai complete with little umbrella, because seriously, Glenn loved the little umbrellas, were laid out on the bar.

Cameron’s gaze swept over each glass, eventually taking a sip from each one, wincing when tasting the Whiskey Sour- dammit, Glenn knew he was too heavy-handed with the lemon juice.

“Well?” Rob asked through a mouth full of pizza, strings of cheese frantically trying to escape, but locked eyes with Cameron and Glenn felt a silent conversation going on over his head. The bartender tapped a finger against his chin, eyes flicking back and forth between the drinks. “Well,” he began deliberately, “Kid’s a little slow, and his technique leaves somethin’ to be desired, but that’s nothin’ time and some training won’t fix. All in all, he did a great fucking job.”

Glenn ducked his head, oddly pleased that the dude with metal skulls and dragons for rings who did this for a living thought he did a good . . .

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait, wait, _wait_.

Time and training? Who the hell said anything about _time_ and _training_? Time and training implied things that he certainly hadn’t been privy to.

“Um,” he coughed, throat dry and the drinks he put together never looked so tempting. “Come again?”

Suddenly, an arm wrapped around his shoulder and he was flushed side-to-side with Rob, not unlike Duke’s sad attempt at placating him to come here in the first place.

Nothing good could come from _this_ either.

“What’s your name, kid?” Glenn raised his head slightly. Rob looked way too cheerful for Glenn’s own sake, with a spot of sauce on the corner of his mouth and open smile showing off less-than-white teeth. Never before had his feelings been so polarized- one side of him saying to get out while he still could, the other wondering how bad could it really be?

“Glenn,” he said warily.

“Glenn.” Rob tested. “Good name, I like it.” And now Glenn knew Rob was trying too hard for something. “You see, Glenn,” Rob continued. “To cut the bullshit, I’m in the market for another bartender, since my good friend over there can’t commit.”

Cameron flipped him off. “Fuck you; my wife just had a baby.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rob pushed his glasses back up with his own bird in kind. “I give him a job and he deserts me. But the point is, I need someone to fill for him on the weekends and so far, you’re the most qualified guy to fall into our laps.” Glenn was about to question the legitimacy of that, when he remembered that this _was_ the Electro Chapel.

A smirk tugging at his lips, imagining the newspaper ad: _Lair for known felons and other detestables seeks part-time bartender with little to no self-preservation. Experience needed, mug shot and personal police file a plus._

Unsurprising that some kid delivering pizzas at too-damn-early in the morning who just happened to know the bare essentials when it came to serving drinks was their best bet.

“Um, thanks, but I’m sure there are better people, like, uh.” Because he had a limit- standards, one might say. “Like her,” he gestured over to Crystal, “Right?”

Cameron snorted so hard into the whiskey he was drinking that flecks splashed his face. “ _Her_? She can set water on fire.”

“It’s true,” Rob grieved next to Glenn, playing it up, “I’ve seen it.”

Crystal’s glower deepened. “Fuck. You. Both.”

Glenn cleared his throat and subtlety tried shifting away from Rob. “Okay, well, sorry to hear that, but, you know, I’m not a professional or anything, and I’ve got another job,” Even if working at Kiki’s was only part-time- like hell was he going to bring up that little tidbit, though. “So I’m the last person you guys would want.”

“Hey now, don’t sell yourself short!” And Glenn thought _he_ was an optimist, seriously. “If Cameron says you’ve got potential, then you’ve got it.” From across the bar, Cameron raised his glass, approving. “We’d only need you Friday to Sunday nights- plenty of week left for delivering pizzas,” Rob persisted, and then swung him around, hands on both his shoulders, uncomfortably close enough that he could count the hefty man’s freckles. “As owner, I’ve got a responsibility to do what’s best for my bar, and I’ve got a good feeling about you.”

Glenn wanted to know in what universe a “good feeling” could be had about a geeky, Asian kid bartending for customers that’d snap him like a Twix Bar. And _how_ , for that matter, since they’ve only known each other for an hour at best and _that_ was because he was here to drop off their pizza. But he was so dumbfounded from this insanely bizarre situation that his neurons weren’t firing right and the connection from his brain to his mouth was jammed up worse than the morning commute.

“Look, uh . . .” and dammit, he could feel his nose wrinkling in that totally non-assertive way Shannon always gave him crap for, “I appreciate the offer and all . . .”

But Rob held up his hand in front of Glenn’s face, still way to close and he could see the dirt packed under the man’s fingernails. “You don’t have to make a decision now,” Uh, yes he did. It was ‘no’. The problem was getting that decision across. “Being the ass-crack of dawn and all. Why don’t you go home and sleep on it?”

He didn’t need to sleep on it, because he was smart, and the smart answer was no. He hadn’t sat through lecture upon lecture and spent all that money on text books for nothing.

Why he wasn’t able to communicate this was still up for debate, but Glenn knew it probably had something to do with left-over fear, bewilderment, and some serious character flaw of his.

Then he was being lead out by Rob’s hand on his shoulder, empty carrier bag slung over his other. The walk leaving the bar felt way shorter than the one going in, and the fresh air of the outside hit him unexpectedly. He and Rob stood outside the double doors for a moment, his awkwardness holding true with the barest hint of dawn creeping over the tree tops.

“Well, here you go.” Rob handed him the twenty-two dollars for the pizza and a folded, weathered fifty. “Oh, and take this too.” He dug into a pocket and pulled out what Glenn guessed was supposed to be a business card, but in actuality was a small index card with names and numbers scrawled in pen.

“Thanks for your time, kid, and seriously, think about it. Cameron can teach you all you need to know. And I figure ten-fifty an hour’s worth giving it a shot.” Glenn’s brain stuttered. Ten-fifty an _hour_? He was lucky if he got eight an hour working at Kiki’s, and that was factoring in tips.

“Besides, it’s not like we can force you.” Rob laughed and grabbed Glenn’s free hand in a handshake, which he numbly returned- thoughts slowly circling back to what convinced him to stay and prep drinks out of the blue for a place he (formally) couldn’t be paid to go near.

Ten-fifty. An hour.

He could hear the sound of the door behind him being opened, Rob calling, “Hope to hear from you soon!” and then it being pulled closed.

Doing what he should have done an hour ago, Glenn walked back to his car, got in, threw the carrier in the back seat and pulled out of the dirt lot to get back onto the highway. But his mind was still in the bar, working as something he wasn’t educated in, for a man he was never formally introduced to, in a bar that may not have confirmed all his fears but still gave reason to have them.

And he hadn’t even seen the place in action.

Still, here he was, driving back to the apartment thinking that if he took this job, then one day- possibly a day much sooner than he hoped- he could be driving back to _his_ apartment.

It was dumb. The dumbest thing he’s ever considered- the kind of thing that if he’d been on the outside looking in, he’d call himself a dumbass. But all he could think of was his plan and how the pieces, alternative and different from what he originally envisioned, were falling into place.

Glenn’s term was almost over. In less than a month, he would be turning in last minute assignments, big projects, and chugging back coffee cramming for finals. He’d also be figuring out what to take next term . . . and therein lays the problem. He was at the point in his college career where he needed to decide what to do, to take the big class-quest so to speak, and Glenn didn’t have any more of an idea than when he first drove into Atlanta.

He was forever a novice.

So it made sense to take a break and not sign up for classes next term. To pick up a couple of extra shifts at Kiki’s- even find a second job to pay off his loans.

And in came Electro Chapel, screwing with his awesome, well-made plan by making everything simultaneously more difficult and even more hopeful.

Working nights during weekends at the Chapel meant he could still enjoy a weekend during the day, and he could keep to Kiki’s during the week with day shifts so he didn’t become a complete recluse with no social life. Even nerds needed to be aired out every once in a while.

Oh God, was he was seriously considering this?

He eyed his steering wheel thoughtfully. As most people had lives that let them sleep decent hours, there weren’t many cars on the road. What were the chances of anyone getting too mad if he just head-desked his horn and set it blaring in a last-ditch effort to knock the sense he lost back into himself?

Going into the Electro Chapel was guaranteed _death_ , forget working there . . . even if Rob was pretty ordinary for someone who owned at bar with a reputation like that. Not exactly the guy with hell in a hand basket. And Cameron, despite his fuck-all attitude, seemed like a cool dude. Plus he said he was married and just had a kid- not much of a picture of evil incarnate.  Then Crystal, regardless of a possible short-fuse and skimpy clothing, was far from a demonic, hedonistic devil-mistress.

Glenn blinked. No more Diablo after midnight.

He sighed, pulling down the visor against the rising sun, even though the apartment was a few minutes. The sheer randomness of what just happened was throwing him off. There was no reason to work there, not even money-wise. The material under his hands grew warmer as he tightened his grip. Maybe there was a . . . a morbid curiosity, like watching a train-wreck, but there were literally no highlights or pros or good reasons to accepting Rob’s offer.

Relief filled him at the sight of the complex. Sleep. He parked into his spot. All he needed was a little sleep, and later when he was well-rested and his common-sense back to full-capacity; he’d give Rob a call. He’d thank him, but decline as politely as he could so he didn’t wind up on a hit list.

Glenn smiled to himself, trudging up his stairs and through the hallway, careful not to wake-up Mrs. Crimbleton from across the hall with the jingling of his keys. Woman had the ears of a wolf.

Yes. Sleep. A good eight hours of sleep would get rid of any remaining thoughts of the Electro Chapel and he could continue his non-hazardous, mostly unobjectionable, very fulfilling life in peace.

* * *

 

This was the domino effect from hell and it wasn’t helping, going over his life.

Go figure.

His parents may not have helped, and Kiki’s may have made things worse, but Glenn needed comfort, needed closure, _needed something_ , because against the very rules that nature and evolution instilled within the human mind, he was driving back to the Electro Chapel.

Not to say no in person, not to scope out the place to make an informed decision, but because he called Rob three days after meeting him and said yes.

He was driving back to the Electro Chapel because he worked there now.

Motherfucker.

Adam. It was all Adam’s fault. Every ounce, every iota, every minuscule molecule of blame was all on Adam. Because if Adam hadn’t called out, then Glenn wouldn’t have taken his shift, pulling the double, and if Glenn hadn’t pulled the double, then he wouldn’t have gone to the Electro Chapel, et cetera, et cetera.

Because Glenn thought he was a pretty smart guy and so in this particular case, like a defendant pleading insanity, he couldn’t be held responsible for his actions.

At least that was his one golden thread of justification as he pulled into the dirt lot for the second time in his life, tires kicking up dust. It was mid-day and there weren’t many more cars than the last time, but Rob said that business didn’t get going until late afternoon, which made now the perfect time for inexperienced, fresh-meat like Glenn to start training.

He ran a hand through his hair, missing the familiar feel of the non-descript baseball cap of his Kiki’s uniform.

He would so rather be delivering pizzas right now.

Still, he didn’t walk away- determination, it was called. It could also be called stupid, moronic or unwise, but determination sounded better.

In a few steps and he was at the double doors. Again. Swallowing past the lump in this throat, Glenn pulled them open, trying to figure out (not for the first time) just what in the hell he was doing.

‘The flu’ his adorable ass. Adam better been recovering from fucking pneumonia.


End file.
